


A Song Sung in Death and Glory

by Valaena_TheDarkDreamer



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Magic, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Jon Snow, Dark Sister Sword (ASoIaF), Dragons, F/M, Jon Snow and Bloodraven are partners, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Political Jon Snow, Warg Jon Snow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:41:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29194722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valaena_TheDarkDreamer/pseuds/Valaena_TheDarkDreamer
Summary: Jon Snow, Ned Stark's Bastard, was not bound for greatness. He was meant to disappear in the shadows of his trueborn siblings. He was supposed to be melted off in darkness and forgotten like just another unwanted natural son of a great Lord.But Jon Snow was not just any other bastard. He had ambitions beyond measure. He was clever and relentless and reckless to the point of insanity. He played the Great Game with Fire and Blood. And when winter came... he prevailed.The Great Bastard of North was meant for greatness, and his greatness was made greater because it had always been been touched with madness.
Relationships: Arthur Dayne & Jon Snow, Brynden "Bloodraven" Rivers & Jon Snow, Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen, Jon Snow & Arya Stark & Bran Stark & Rickon Stark & Robb Stark & Sansa Stark, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Robert Baratheon/Cersei Lannister
Comments: 12
Kudos: 102





	A Song Sung in Death and Glory

**Author's Note:**

> This work has been inspired by George R. R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire. I own nothing. I gain nothing.

* * *

_Willful, and beautiful, and dead before her time..._

* * *

Lyanna never wanted to be a lady. She hardly ever envisioned herself as some lord's lady wife — running his household, birthing his children. 

No, she never thought she would be a mother one day. 

Lyanna Stark was wild, everyone in the North knew that. Wild and willful as the sigil of her House; unyielding and a beauty touched with the fabled wilderness of her lands. Ice ran through her veins. Blood of the Kings of Winter, wargs, Children of the Forest — wherever she walked, she walked with the weight of a legacy eight thousand years ancient. 

_"Eyes of the North."_ Her mother would always say, peering into her silver-grey eyes. _"My winter child."_

Lyanna was born in the heart of winter. She ran before she walked, her father had told her fondly, and rode a horse before she talked. Born in the saddle, they said, a centaur if ever there was one. 

Now as she lay in the bed of her own blood, in the middle of no where, with only sprawling Red mountains of Dorne stretched as far as the eyes went and farther, Lyanna reflected if that had been her greatest tragedy all along. Was she always meant to die here, in the midst of sand, away from the sheets of snow of her home? Alone and scared, conscience burdened with consequences of her mistakes. Her head was heavy with guilt, her hands were blooded with the lives of tens of thousands of men. 

All because Rhaegar loved Lyanna, and she loved him just as fiercely. 

Her father, Rickard Stark, had often worried for his only daughter. _"You love like a wolf, child. As fierce as you are loyal, lovingly protective and proud. I fear for you. I hope this does not get you killed, my wolf-blooded daughter."_

_Now here I am,_ Lyanna thought bitterly, _suffering for my sins._

_"I don't want to marry him," Lyanna yelled. "Robert Baratheon is a drunken lecher who cares naught about duty and responsibility as long as he has a willing wench to fuck and tankards of drink to drown his senses into."_

_Ned shifted in his seat, likely wanting to defend his friend, but Lyanna beat him to that. She clasped her father's hands and looked him in the eye before speaking, "I do not care if he's the Lord Paramount of Stormsland. He wants to claim me like a possession, he will never love or respect me. We have scarce talked to each other, how can he know me, father?"_

_"He loves you, Lya," Ned said. Her quiet, solemn Ned. The brother who had sung praises high and low for his precious Robert — his brother in all but blood. "Marriage to you will curb his tendencies. He will change, Lya, give him a chance."_

Lyanna had wanted to weep and laugh all at once. She'd wanted to scream at him and shake sense into him. _You are betraying me,_ she had wanted to yell, _you are betraying your pack. I am your blood,_ she had wanted to remind, _support me, not him. Protect me, not him._

She didn't, though. 

_"Love is sweet, dearest Ned,"_ She had said, instead. Grief and betrayal tasted bitter on her palate. _"But it cannot change a man's nature."_

She wondered if this was their fate, women among menfolk destined to be shackled by the norms of highborns and lowborns. Was it all they were worth of, their maidenhead sold to the highest bidder? To live and die, becoming a foot note in the history. 

  
_"We could die on the morrow." His silver hair cascaded down like spun silk, covering their faces. "We could live, or we could die, it doesn't matter. In this moment... " he said, caressing her jaws. "You and I, here, that's all that matters, and that's all I need."_

_Lyanna stared at his deep indigo eyes that were oft writ with melancholy, now they seemed to sparkle with delight. Once again she was transported in the Godswood of Harrenhal, her dagger nestled sharply above his heart. That was the first time she had seen him laughing with a strange abandon. And she thought that perhaps it was true, Targaryens were men who answered neither to men nor to gods. Or so they believed._

_"I have lived with you and I have loved you. If I die, I die. All men must die. But first we'll live. I am yours, always, until the end of my days."_

  
Beautiful, noble Rhaegar Targaryen came like a whirlwind into her life and swept her off her feet. Like a prince from one of those songs. She had witnessed that, though silent, he was still a dragon, and her Silver Prince had loved her like one.

Their love was like a dance of ice and fire. His fire consumed and devoured her to the bones, her ice tempered him and grounded him enough to explore the colors of life. When they were together, the world faded away. Lords and ladies, kings and princes, crowns of gold and silver and rubies and jades from across the Narrow Sea, whispers and duty and honor — everything destroyed each other twice over, thrice over... It did not matter, nothing did except that he was Rhae and she was Lya. 

_"We can only love each other from afar. We can never be together, my love,"_ She had reasoned. They had tasted the elixir of love, she knew, they had to drink the poison of misery as well. Their love was fated to doom from the beginning. However, she had underestimated the love of a dragon; it left naught but destruction in its wake. 

They had wed on the Isle of Faces, bound in front of her gods and his. Princess Elia Martell had kissed her cheek and called her sister. Lyanna became a wife with fifteen namedays up her sleeves and now she was a mother. 

  
_"'Tis the wheel of fate, sister."_ _Elia sighed. "It rolls and rolls, and we roll with it."_

Lyanna huddled her babe close to her breast. Her blood seeped through the silk and fed the three-headed dragon more red. Her arms trembled but she dared not slacken her grip on her son. _This is my penance. I pay the price in blood._

  
Tens of thousands died because of her. How many women widowed? How many children orphaned? How many mothers lost their children? How many siblings perished? How many... How many... 

Two great Houses were nearly wiped out. A realm torn asunder, centuries old dynasty toppled, all the while kingdoms bled and burned. Her father burned alive. Her brother strangled to death. Her husband died with his chest caved in, while her own brother fought against him without even knowing. Her sister-wife — kind, gentle Elia — raped and cut into two.

_Children, little children,_ she cried blood and salt. _My hands are awash with the blood of innocents, I will never be free of this burden in this life or in my death._

_"Please, please... "_ She had begged. _"No mother should see her child die. Take me to the seven hells, let my babe live. I will pay for his life with mine."_

Lyanna looked at her babe, her son, his long face and his eyes. Eyes — the color of deep indigo but threaded with sparking amethyst — that welled with magic known and unknown. He had the features of Old Valyria — eyes, nose, lips... everything was Rhaegar's. He had her hair, she reflected — a brown so dark, it almost looked black. Stark hair. Her father's hair. The gods must be laughing. Aerys Targaryen's last living grandchild with Rickard Stark's hair. 

Sweat poured down her brows, yet she felt cold. She was bleeding her life out, she still held onto her son. 

_"Can one be brave when he is afraid, Papa?" Little Lyanna asked, scrunching her face._

_Rickard crouched down. His face was carved from stone but his eyes were infused with the warmth of hundred hearths. "That is the only time one can be brave, my girl."_

"You have a long way, my son..." Lyanna murmured, against her babe's head. "Be strong."

She kissed his forehead. "Aegon, Jaehaerys, Viserys, Daeron, Daemon... They have all written their histories— good and bad, terrible and great. But you, my son, shan't live under the shadow of another's name. You shall write a song anew, the greatest of all."

She met three pairs of eyes as tears rolled down her cheeks. The Kingsguard appeared like wraiths in white. Oswell was supporting Gerold who was deeply wounded. And Arthur, he was as silent as a ghost in the crypts. A moment later she thought she heard the distant thundering of hooves.

_I am Lyanna Stark of Winterfell,_ she reminded herself, _I shall be brave._

"His Grace, Vhaegar of House Targaryen, King of the Seven Kingdoms," she proclaimed. 

The Kingsguard dropped on their knees and sweared their vows to the infant king, "Long may he reign."

_Vhaegar... for Vhagar, Visenya's dragon, who was said to be twice as fierce as her, and for the father who never got to hold him._

Lady Lyanna died in swathes of silk and sheets, blood and roses. Her face embellished with tears and her wailing babe on her breast; she died holding her brother's hand, with her son's name on her lips. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work of fiction. I hope you like it and support it.


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